


Starfighter

by audreycritter



Series: Cor Et Cerebrum [30]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Brief Violence, Gen, a light stabbing, aggressive platonic cuddling, fear toxin, fluff maybe, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 17:32:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14001075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/pseuds/audreycritter
Summary: When Bruce and Tim end up dealing with a nasty version of fear toxin, the solution is antidote, more antidote, and chilling with some video games while Dev keeps an eye on things.Keeping anything pointy out of Tim's reach would probably be a good idea, too.





	Starfighter

**Author's Note:**

> fluff? tooth-rotting? unedited? some blood?
> 
> check check check check.

The fear toxin was a brutal one. Bruce and Tim made it to the cave only to sit on gurneys and shake in the assault of it, while they waited for the first of the two-stage antidote to kick in. Dev monitored the both of them while they white-knuckled the edges of thin mattresses and closed their eyes, and he decided that fear toxin was one of his least favorite things to treat.

When he stepped forward to check Tim’s vitals and give him the second dose, he was prepared to settle him down, but after the first dose Tim should have been more bark than bite.

So it caught Dev off-guard, not completely but close to it, when Tim hurled a fist into his stomach and then began pummeling him, clearly seeing something else while he half-sobbed and let his fists fly.

In a second, Dev had edged back, trying to gulp for air to try to talk Tim down, but Bruce grabbed Tim with an arm around his waist and hauled him back, speaking quietly into his ear, his own words still tense and broken with odd pauses. Tim calmed as Bruce got him near the medical counter and held him there against the laminate, still hushing him.

For a moment, Tim stilled, like he was listening. And then like lightning, he dropped down out of Bruce’s hold. A  _chhk_  and bitten-off roar filled the cave, swelling with echo across the space. There was a ballpoint pen sticking out of Bruce’s calf and when Tim wrenched away as if escaping, Dev jabbed his neck with a sedative that kicked in when Tim was only ten feet further away.

“He….stabbed you with a bloody biro,” Dev said, bent slightly. He could already feel bruises rising on his stomach.

“That’s not….the weirdest thing I’ve been…stabbed with,” Bruce answered, staring at his own leg with an awed expression. “What a resourceful kid. It’s…I’m…hnn.”

Bruce hit the ground with a resounding  _thud_  before Dev could do more but keep his head from smacking anything on the way down.

“Right, then,” Dev said hoarsely to the silent cave. “Biro removal surgery.”

* * *

The familiar  _nnpew nnpew_  of 8-bit laser cannon sound effects was interrupted by a plastic  _crunch_  and the user-controlled spaceship slid to the far right on the bottom of the screen and stuck there, only to explode a second later under enemy fire.

“Tim,” Bruce said, staring at the screen. “What happened.”

Beside him on the couch, Tim looked up from the cube he was molding out of glittery stress putty and then leaned closer to see— a minor feat, considering how hard he was already pressed against Bruce’s side.

“You broke the controller. I’ll get you a new one,” Tim said, with a small sniff, but he stayed glued to his spot beside Bruce.

“I’ve— _unnf_ — bloody got it. Stay there, Timothy.” Dev pushed himself up with his elbows from where he’d been sprawled on his back on the floor, watching the screen, and rolled to his knees with a wince. He pulled open a polished wooden drawer on the massive media center and fished another controller out of a neat pile of them. “You’ve not sliced up your bloody hands, have you?”

Bruce gingerly peeled his hands off the controller and reached forward to set it on the coffee table. Tim made a small startled noise at losing the shoulder he’d been leaning against, and pressed harder into it when Bruce sat back. Dev held the controller out and Bruce took it, after looking his hands over.

“No,” he said. “My hands look fine.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go  _that_  sodding far,” Dev returned, lowering himself back to the floor with an arm held over his stomach. “But I’ll be pleased enough with nothing new. Bloody hell.”

This last statement was directed at the ceiling as he settled onto his back again, still grimacing.

“Sorry,” Tim muttered quietly.

“Timothy,” Dev said.

Bruce was trying to pair the controller with the system, still on an end game screen of Galaga with a blinking ‘Failed to Locate Controller’ drop down.

“Dev?” Tim crushed the cube and squished it into lopsided spheres a few times.

“I’ve told you it’s not your fault, mate. Have I blamed you?”

“No,” Tim mumbled miserably. He reached for the controller and Bruce surrendered it with a quiet huff.

“Then I’ve not blamed you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tim sighed. Bruce put an arm around his thin shoulders and tugged him into a sideways hug while Tim’s fingers flew through attempts at connecting the device.

“Why do we have so many of these?” Bruce asked after Tim connected it and began playing.

“Controllers?” Tim asked, the tinny  _plew plew_  of carefully measured shots emanating from the television screen. “Give you one guess.”

“Damian,” Bruce sighed.

“What? No,” Tim said, jamming the fire button several times in a row. “Oh. I guess that…yeah that was a good guess. Two out of three.”

“Alfred,” Bruce said immediately, without any trace of visible mirth.

“Bruce,” Tim half-laughed, half-whined. “You’re not even trying. Here, do this part for me, I always run out of ships.”

He shoved the controller into Bruce’s hands and Bruce took over.

“Hn. I need clues.”

“It’s not a mystery.”

“You wanted me to guess.”

“Not everything you don’t know is a mystery,” Tim said, rolling his eyes. He was still attached to Bruce’s side like a barnacle. “Sometimes it’s just social formula.”

“Never heard of her.” Bruce’s inflection didn’t change and seven enemy ships disappeared under a barrage of pixelated laser blasts.

“Bruce,” Tim complained, throwing up an arm to cover his face. “Last guess.”

“I feel like this is a trap.”

“You’d think that about anything right now,” Tim protested. “I do.”

“Hnn. How are you feeling.”

“Don’t change the subject. One more guess,” Tim sniffed again.

“Oi, Wayne, they’ll be from the left this time,” Dev called from the floor. “And how are the bloody  _both_  of you doing? I might as well do my job if I’m going to lie here eating your crisps.”

“You’ve got chips?” Tim asked immediately, sounding affronted.

“I’m fine,” Bruce said, his thumb hitting the button so fast he was almost simply holding it down.

“They’re paprika,” Dev answered.

“Ugh,” Tim said, his face twisting into an expression of disgust. “And I’m alive and I almost want to stay that way.”

“As you bloody well ought,” Dev said, somewhere between sharp and cheerfully agreeing. “Wayne?”

“A minute,” Bruce said, concentrating on the screen.

“The left again,” Dev answered. “And the truth this time.”

“Tim,” Bruce said, and nothing else.

“Timothy,” Dev sat halfway up, hissing through his teeth on the way there, and stopped when he could see over the coffee table and ottomans. “Timothy, mate, do us a favor and clap your hands over your ears.”

For a moment, Tim stared at him blankly. Then he dropped the stress putty on his lap and clamped both hands over his ears, drew up his legs onto the couch, and butted Bruce’s arm with his head. The arm, still holding the controller, lifted just enough for Tim to duck under and make a pillow out of the side of Bruce’s chest.

“I’m fine,” Bruce repeated. “My leg is stiff and I am…alert.”

“Alert,” Dev echoed skeptically. “Right, then. Extreme paranoia.”

“…and anxiety,” Bruce added, in a clipped tone, like it was a report on an unfortunate schedule change rather than a self-assessment. “The questions are not helping.”

“So, when they’ve let up leaving you bloody terrified, then I’ll consider you out of the sodding woods,” Dev shot back. “And I’ll look over your leg once more before I sleep. One on the right, just a rogue.”

“I can hear you,” Tim mumbled, his face buried in Bruce’s turtleneck. “Thought I should make that clear.”

“Noted,” Bruce said. “I think this controller is broken.”

“It’s Cass,” Tim said, jumping slightly when the second cracked controller clattered across the table where Bruce had tossed it. Dev made grumbling noises as he dug out another controller from the drawer.

“Really?” Bruce actually sounded just slightly surprised.

“Mhmm.” Tim nodded. “She throws them when she’s mad at Minecraft.”

“Is that the one with the sheep.” Bruce shook his head just slightly at Dev, who shrugged and kept the controller, and put a different game in. He started it and began wandering around an orange-rock barren landscape with trees in the distance.

“Mhmm,” Tim said again, sounding sleepier.

“Why is Cassandra getting that angry about sheep.”

“It’s not  _just_  sheep, Bruce,” Tim said, yawning. “It’s like….well, it’s got a lot of stuff. You’ve seen it.”

“Yes. The sheep.”

“And other stuff! Anyway, she gets mad about the chickens. I don’t know why.”

“We have over a hundred acres.” Bruce looked toward the heavily curtained windows, his brow slightly furrowed with suspicion, as if he wasn’t entirely sure the outside was still there. “You are aware of this.”

“I don’t think Cass wants real chickens,” Tim cautioned, with a tired frown. “Please don’t get the wrong idea from this conversation.”

“Hnn,” Bruce said. “Get some rest, Tim.”

“You’ll get up,” Tim protested.

“I won’t. I can’t.”

“You said stiff,” Dev broke in fiercely and suddenly, dropping the controller and swinging to his feet. “Bloody fucking hell.” He limped out of the room, shaking sleep out of one ankle.

When he came back, Tim was snoring softly and Bruce’s arm was still around him. Bruce accepted the pills Dev tipped into his hand without protest, and swallowed them dry before taking the bottle of water.

“I’ve got to go into work in a few hours. I have a meeting,” Bruce said, as Dev sat with his back propped against the coffee table and resumed the game.

“The bloody hell you do. I’ll write up an official doctor’s note and everything. You can’t go in, you’ve the black lung.”

Bruce made a noise that might have been an attempt at laughter, but got too shaky and uncertain near the end. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll stay home.”


End file.
